Psychoticia
by defectivebrainstorm
Summary: So, how did Stork get to be so paranoid and pessimistic? Is it just the way of the Merbs? Or is it something a little more disturbing? A series of dark and twisted drabbles that unfold the story of Stork's life.
1. Squadron

Summary: So how did Stork get so paranoid and pessimistic? Some say that's just the way of the Merbs, but is it really? Or is it something more disturbing? Enter me and you've got one twisted tale coming your way. This story is a lot of dark and tragic (and twisted) drabbles smeared together into some sort of order. It is a story, but it's pretty mixed up. Flash backs of both Piper and Stork, present time chapters with mostly Stork's POV. Also occasionally some chapters that are like a written view of Stork's mind. I got the idea from the R.A. Salvatore books in which each part has an opening by one of his characters. StorkxPiper, rated M because there's gonna be swearing and some pretty messed up stuff.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Storm Hawks (and I'm sorry for any psychological damage that may be done to them due to my fic).

**1**

**Squadron**

_Squadron._

_That word means different things to different people. If you aren't part of a squadron then you can't begin to understand the bond we develop. I guess even if you're in a squadron you have some different ideas of what it means. I can barely begin to describe what my squadron means to me._

_I suppose most people think of their squadrons as family. I prefer not to think of mine that way, but then again, I have a different view of families then most. When most people think of family they think of things like unity and love and understanding and sacrifice. I think of things like pain and fear and suffering and toxicity. Personally, I think squadrons go deeper then family. Maybe they go even deeper then friendship._

_When you're with your squadron, no matter where you are, you're always home. No matter what kind of place you get stuck in, whether it be Atmosia or Bogaton you've always got this feeling of security and acceptance. In a squadron, no matter who is your leader or what species you are, you always feel equal. In a squadron you don't just find a way to work together, you find a way to live together, despite racial differences and personality clashes. You're always accepted and understood and there's this sort of unspoken promise that no matter what they've always got your back. It's such a good feeling to know that, believe me._

_People say that when soldiers from different places and who were brought up in different ways are thrust together in a war, they form this bond together that is so strong and so deep that no one can really understand it unless you've gone through the same thing. They become almost like brothers, they watch out for each other and they love each other. That's sort of what we got too. We love each other like our own brothers and sisters, and more then that, we love each other like parts of ourselves. Your fellow squad-mates become a part of you, an extension of yourself. They become so much a part of you that if they were to leave you just wouldn't be able to function properly. When they're sad, you're sad and when they're happy you're happy. If someone insults your squad-mate then they insult you too. Their enemies become your enemies. Their pain becomes your pain. You love them so much that you'd sooner die then betray them. You'd suffer for them, you'd die for them. You'd take the hit for them without even having to think about it. If they're dying in the hospital and they need a new heart you're the first one to raise your hand, no questions asked. You trust each other with your life. You know they've always got your back, and they know you've got theirs. You'd take on an army to try and save them and they'd do the same for you. They'd follow you through Hell and back again. No matter what kind of trouble you get yourself in, they'll be there to get you out. They'll never give up on you. They heal you and they protect you and they don't ask for anything in return because they know you'd do the same. They'd die fighting beside you, and no matter how bad things look they won't leave your side. They follow you to the bitter end, and you'd follow them too. That's why I wish that when things get bad they weren't there beside me. I wish that they were somewhere happy and safe instead of facing possible doom with me, because I know they're ready to die beside me and it makes me so terribly happy and sad at the same time I feel like I'll just break down and cry. Oh, sure, I love to know I've got my best friends beside me when things get bad. But when it gets really bad? I wish they weren't there to go down with me._

_Of course, there is no better way to go then beside your friends, fighting for what's right. It's sort of a double standard, really. I wouldn't want to know my friends were about to die beside me, but there's no way I'd rather go then beside my friends, surrounded by an army of Cyclonians, taking out as many as I could before I too go down, my only leaving regret knowing that my friends were going to go down with me. But there's no greater fate then that. I don't anticipate that end, but when it does come, all I'll have to say is "Bring it on." It's the ultimate ending and I don't want to go any other way. It's the way I know we're all going to die, they way we should die, together, fighting for those who can't fight for themselves. And I wouldn't have it any other way._

_So, to me, squadron is blood. You can't live without blood and you can't live without your squadron. Sure, there are other things you can't live without, like air. But air is not a part of you. Blood is a part of you, and without blood air is useless. Without your squadron life is worthless. So that's what squadron is to me. Squadron is brethren. Squadron is blood. Squadron is life._

_-Stork_

A wee bit shorter then usual, but this is only the first chappie. Kicks up a bit after this. Please review and tell me what you think so far!


	2. The Fear Plague

**2**

**The Fear Plague**

It wasn't his fault.

He'd been late leaving the library. He always stayed longer then anyone else, past closing time until the female Merb from the desk found him, curled in one of the huge armchairs and told him gently it was time for him to go home. The look in her eye told him she was sorry to have to make him leave, but she couldn't just let him stay the night in here, like he'd so often pleaded to do before. Slowly he'd slid from the soft chair, taken his books back to their places (they weren't safe at home) and then dragged himself from his sanctuary.

Was it wrong to want to prolong his stay in his sanctuary? He loved it there, of course he didn't want to leave. The library was huge yet comforting at the same time. It was literally filled with towering shelves, filled with the most wonderful books in all of Atmos. There were books bursting with extraordinary stories that could pluck him from his chair and land him right in the middle of the adventure alongside the heroes of the story. Other books were chock full of brain enriching facts and information about any subject you could possibly imagine. Sometimes he even took out some of the old children's stories and just looked at the pictures for hours on end. The books weren't the only thing he loved about the library, though: it comforted him in other ways too. It smelled inside like old paper and ink and coffee and cinnamon and vanilla. The shelves were all made of dark, polished wood stacked full of multi coloured books, all waiting to be cracked open and explored. There was a mural a flaming red dragon and a knight in flashing armour painted in rich oil paints in the centre of the domed, golden lighted ceiling. The armchairs were all made with a dark red fabric and they were so incredibly soft and comfortable he'd fallen asleep in one of them more then once. The exotic carpet was warm and fuzzy beneath his bare toes and it made his feet itch in a good sort of way. And it was quiet. Not a scary sort of silence that made you shut your eyes and wait for the explosion. It was just deliciously quiet. Sometimes he didn't even need a book to read; he could just sit and slip into the wrapping womb of peace that could be found no where else but here.

It wasn't his fault.

It was raining outside when he left his haven. He'd started to head towards home when he remembered with a sickening jolt that he was supposed to go and pick up some groceries from the store. He turned back towards the square, but he knew it was going to be too late. He even ran the last street, but he was still too late. The store was closed and he felt himself start to shake. He glanced around, wondering if he could find a place where he could maybe curl up and stay for the night. He turned around and headed home after a moment, knowing it wasn't a good idea to begin with. If they found him he'd be in much more trouble then he already was.

His stomach started to cramp up as he dragged his feet back towards home. It wasn't that he was particularly hungry or sick per say. It was the fear that made him feel like he was going to puke all over the sidewalk. It spread itself like the plague through his body, attacking him from the inside out. His heart started to beat uncomfortably fast and his body shook violently in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. He broke out in a freezing sweat that mingled with the rain that was streaming down his face and back. His eye twitched slightly, a tick that had started years before. He couldn't do anything to control it.

He turned the street corner and could see the stark, dank light pouring out from the windows of his house and he whimpered. He'd tried to trick himself into thinking that maybe she'd gone to sleep. He stayed where he was for a minute, starring at those lights like they were a beacon. A beacon for the Fear Plague.

It wasn't his fault.

But she wouldn't see it that way.

It was always his fault.

He walked like one who was on his way to the gallows, head down, ears drooping and lifting his legs like they were weighing him down into the ground.

Before he opened to old, crotchety door he pulled the little amount of money she'd given him out of his pocket, ready to give it back the second he opened the door. It was bad enough he hadn't gotten the groceries. If he forgot even for a second to give her the money back, it would be much, much worse.

With a deep, preparing breath, he pushed open the door and stepped into the house, which was only slightly warmer then the chill air outside.

He tried to close the door quietly, but it slipped from his numb fingers and banged into the frame obviously and accusingly.

It wasn't his fault.

Heavy, unsteady footsteps sounded from the living room. He tried to shrink back into the shadows and make himself small, but it didn't work. She saw him.

He thrust out at the hand with the money in it. She just stared at him.

"Mo-mommy…" he stammered "I-I'm s-sorry, I l-l-lost t-track of-"

The back of her hand crashed across the side of his face, jerking his head to the side and causing his trembling knees to buckle beneath him. His hand was shaking so badly he dropped the money he'd been holding and it scattered across the uneven floorboards.

"Are you fucking RETARDED?" she screamed at him. "All I asked you to do was to go to the store!"

"I k-know, I-I'm sorry!" he sobbed, hugging his arms around his head. It didn't stop her. She grabbed hold of him and yanked him to his feet, wrenching his arms away from his face and smashing a fist into his cheek and shaking him like he was bad little dog.

"You shit-head!" she shouted in his face, eyes blazing behind a sheen of alcohol-induced haze. "Can't you use your head? Your father's going to be home in an hour and what am I supposed to make him for dinner? I guess you didn't think about that, huh? Do you ever think, you little fuck? Don't you care about anyone but yourself?" she shoved him so hard he fell backwards, whacking his head off the counter and crumpling to the floor with a cry. He curled into a ball as her foot connected with his thin rib cage.

"It was an accident!" Stork cried.

"Get the fuck out of my sight! Get to your room! Now!" she screeched and he didn't need telling twice. He scrambled to his feet and fled to his room, tears running down his cheeks and feeling so scared he thought his chest was going to explode. Flinging himself under his bed he tucked himself into the farthest corner and cried and shook and ached.

It wasn't his fault. It was, for the world, an accident.

But she didn't believe him.

It was always his fault.

That was the first rule of the Fear Plague.


	3. Miscarriage

**3 **

**Miscarriage**

Author's note: Hey, thank you everybody who reviewed, it means a lot to me! This chappie's is Piper's POV from when she was younger, so sorry if it's a little less…dramatic. Oh, and Fantasia is Piper's mother, but not the American Idol. I just thought it sounded like a good name for Piper's mom.

A twig snapped beneath Piper's boot and she winced at the loud cracking sound. It may have seemed like a slight, insignificant noise in most cases, but in the darkening, silent woods, that noise could mean death. She pressed her narrow frame against the scratchy bark of a nearby tree and listened into the shadows. She didn't hear anything at first, but just as she started to relax she heard the haunting call of a Lune Owl somewhere in the distance. But not too far in the distance.

Piper tried to keep her breathing in check as she faced an agonizing dilemma: she could stay put, hoping that she hadn't been spotted and risk being caught or she could make a run for it and risk giving herself away and then being caught. After a few moments of inner turmoil she decided to stay put until she could pinpoint where the call had come from and where the other one was hiding.

She looked around carefully, trying to penetrate the shadows under trees or next to bushes. Was it only shadows there or was there something more?

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the call came again, and there could be no mistaking it: that sound didn't come from a real Lune Owl. They were out there, and they were getting closer. A second call answered to first and Piper realized in horror that this one was much closer then the first, off to her side. She strained her ears and her eyes in the black silence, trying to pick out anything that might give them away.

She was so busy hunting through the darkness off to the side where she'd heard the second call that she didn't hear him come up behind her until it was too late.

"Gotcha!" Finn cried, leaping on her and sitting on her on keep her pinned. She let out a scream as she went down and she heard Aerrow laughing near by.

"Good work, Finn!" he said, coming closer and shining the beam of a flashlight over them both. Piper wiggled under Finn, feeling like a sore loser.

"Ok, ok, you got me. Now can you please get _off_ me?" she said peevishly.

"Aw, somebody's cranky 'cause she lo-st." Finn taunted in a sing-song voice.

"Don't feel too bad, Piper, you put up a good fight. It took us forever to find you." Aerrow said, pushing Finn off and hoisting Piper to her feet. Piper brushed dirt off herself with a pout.

"You don't have to sugar-coat it, Aerrow, I know I lost." She said.

"Damn right you did!" Finn said with a wicked little smirk. He swore too much for an eight year old.

"Yeah, that's right, rub it in. Anyways, I think we should get going home now. It's already dark, and we were supposed to be back before the sun went down. We're going to be in trouble." Piper said.

"You mean _we'll_ be in trouble. You never get told off for anything." Finn said, sounding jealous.

"That's not true." Piper said as they headed back to where they'd left their skimmer boards.

"Oh, it totally is."

"Come on, guys, don't start this again." Aerrow said. "Hey, guess what? I got a letter from my Dad today! He says he's coming home in two weeks!"

"Yeah, you've said that about twenty times already." Finn said with a grin. "And I told ya, I'm happy for you, buddy. It'll be cool to see him again."

"That's great, Aerrow." Piper told him, squeezing his shoulder.

They reached to field where they'd propped their skimmer boars up against a large grey rock. Piper lay hers on the ground and stepped onto the trigger pad. The board jolted to life and lifted her into the air. Finn and Aerrow were beside her shortly.

"Race ya!" Finn crowed, stamping down hard on his trigger pad and speeding off into the night. Laughing, Aerrow and Piper took off after him, matching his speed and trying to pull ahead of him. They pushed each other and knocked elbows and gained momentary lead before being over taken by someone else. Piper smiled widely and couldn't imagine a greater paradise then this.

The lights of the city snapped up under then abruptly and they steered their way towards their neighbourhood.

"See you tomorrow, loser!" Finn jeered at Piper, angling downwards toward his house. "See ya, Aerrow!"

Piper only half scowled after him. She knew he was kidding. She and Aerrow gradually drooped down to the street below, cruising along like old school skateboarders towards their homes. Aerrow slowed down near his house and turned to her, green eyes catching the light of the street lamps.

"Goodnight, Piper. I'll come and get you tomorrow." he said, reaching for her hand then jerking away at the last moment and scooting up to his garage. Piper smiled knowingly and continued on her way to her own house.

She stopped outside the huge, manor-like house, stepping off her board and letting it power down as she walked up the path to the front door. She left her board propped against the outside wall opened the door, steeping into the warm, cozy light of the front hallway.

"Piper? Is that you?" Her mother called from somewhere down the hall as Piper kicked off her boots.

"Yeah, Mom!" Piper said loudly.

"Alright. Dinner's on the table, wash up and then come eat."

Piper pushed her boots over out of the way of the door so her father wouldn't trip on them when he came home and padded down the hall in her lime green socks, feeling the smooth, slippery hard wood floor beneath her feet. She stopped in the side bathroom and washed her hands and rubbed some of the dirt off her face and then entered the dining room. Her mother had the table already set, a steaming roast set in the middle of it. Piper climbed into one of the large, high backed chair and waited for her mother.

"Did I put out milk?" her mother called from the kitchen and Piper nodded before she remembered that her mother couldn't see her.

"Yes you did!" she called.

"Alright, good." her mother appeared in the doorway then, looking stunning, as usual. She had Piper's electrically dark hair pulled back and then spiked up at the back so it looked like a thorny crown sitting on the back of her head. She was slender, almost too slender and she had alarming blue eyes that glowed like sapphires, even when she was sad. They only stopped glowing during one of her down periods, and Piper had a hard time meeting them then. But she'd been ok lately, and Piper had savoured those sparkling orbs whenever they fell upon her.

Fantasia smiled at her only daughter and pulled out a chair across from her. They always had four or more chairs set around the beautiful, cherry wood table, even when it was only the two of them.

"How was your day, sweetie?" she asked, cutting the roast into thin slices.

"Good." Piper said after taking a drink of milk. "Aerrow and I found some more fossils in the dry creek bed, and I beat Finn in target practice. He's getting better, though."

Her mother nodded. "I had a good day too. In fact…" she paused for a moment as she handed Piper her roast and the gravy, leaving Piper in suspense. "I have some news for you."

Piper looked up. Her mother sounded more excited then she had in a long time and Piper wondered what that could mean. Her mother had fallen into a clinical depression little over a year ago, sliding in and out of despair and unhappiness while trying to look after her beloved daughter. Piper knew it was too hard for her some days and so she'd aged beyond her years over the past few months, looking after herself and her mother when her mother couldn't. She remained guarded as she waited for her mother to explain. She'd been disappointed too many times before, thinking her mother was getting better when really it was just one of her up periods, leaving her high as a kite for a few days or even weeks and then sending her crashing down suddenly and leaving her there, crippled and weak. This could be just another one of those times, and she couldn't bear to get her hopes up only to have them smashed into pieces before her eyes.

"What is it?" she asked carefully.

"Well, I know how you've been so brave and so strong for me all this time. You've been a very big girl, Piper, very responsible. And I know you were just as sad as I was when… when it happened." Here her mother paused and stared off into space for a moment. Piper new what she meant. After it had happened she'd heard much whisperings in the house between her father and her mother's sisters while her mother lay stricken in bed. Nobody wanted to explain to Piper what had happened, so she found out for herself. One night she pulled one of the big, fat books from her father's shelf and looked up the word that everyone had been uttering like some horrible disease, and she discovered what had happened.

It was called miscarriage. It was the reason the Piper's mother had gone to the hospital one night, stomach swollen and with happy, excited feelings swirling around her like a silk cloak, and had come back two days later, eyes bloodshot and stomach empty. Piper had asked her father, who had walked in like he was waking from a nightmare, where her baby sister was, and he'd just burst into tears and held her so close she couldn't breathe. Her mother took to her bed and didn't get up for weeks. Piper's aunts stayed with them and she heard them sometimes when they didn't know she was listening. They said things like "poor thing was dead before it was even out of the womb" and "she's lucky she even had Piper. She won't have anymore, the doctor said so". Piper hadn't really understood their words, but she understood their voices and their faces. Her mother could never have another baby, and she'd succumbed to depression because of it. That and the loss of the one Piper never got to know. Piper had been crushed: she'd wanted a baby sister more then anything in the world.

Piper's mother breathed deeply a few times then smiled at Piper. "Piper, baby, I know how sad you were, and I feel so… so terrible that I was too sick to look after you."

"That's ok, Mommy." Piper said quickly. She didn't want her mother to feel guilty, and she always used 'mommy' when she wanted her mother to know she still loved her, no matter what.

"No, it isn't ok, and one day I will make it up to you. You…you understand that Mommy can't have anymore babies, don't you?" her mother asked, running a hand over her lower stomach longingly as she said so.

Piper nodded and looked at the table top, feeling tears burning at the bottom of her eyes.

"But that doesn't mean you'll never have a little brother or sister." her mother continued soothingly and Piper snapped her head up.

"What do you mean?" she asked, hope flaring despite herself.

"Well, Daddy and I have been talking, and we've decided that we'd like to adopt a little boy or girl and make them a part of our family. I know you might think that it's not exactly the same, but they'd be your little brother or sister and you can look after them, play with them and teach them all sorts of the big girl things you know. But we'd only do it if you want to. If we're going to do this, then we'll do it together, and if you think it's a bad idea, then that's perfectly okay." Fantasia reached across the table and took Piper's hand gently. "What do you think, sweetie?"

Piper's insides were a hum of excitement. "Oh, Mommy, think it's a great idea! A girl, can it please be a girl?" she jumped up excitedly, eyes stretched wide with glee. Her mother smiled and Piper cherished it. Her mother didn't smile much anymore.

"We'll see when the time comes. It won't be for a while yet. But we'll try for a girl, if that's what you want."

Piper's face nearly split in two, so wide was her smile. Her stomach felt too full for her to eat. She danced and skipped around the dining room, feeling like she could fly.


	4. Hunger

**4**

**Hunger**

**Author's Note: This is present day Stork POV. Just so we're all clear on that. And thank you for all the lovely reviews!**

There were some things some people just knew better then others. Some people knew love better then others. Some people knew hate better then others. It was just one of those things.

Some people knew things to the extreme, to the point where they knew the meaning of that particular thing. Stork was one of those people. There were things he knew better then anyone. Well maybe not anyone, because he was certain there were people out there who were more miserable then he had been. It was that sort of thought that haunted him at night. But in his squadron, there were things he knew better then any of the others. Fear, for one. Stork knew fear better then his own reflection. Stork knew pain too. He knew misery and he knew suffering. He knew those all better then he hoped most people did. Better then any of his friends did.

Stork also knew hunger. He knew hunger right to the bone.

Piper was cooking in the kitchen, and whatever it was she was making (she experimented as much with foods as she did crystals) it smelled like…Heaven. The scent of it wafted from the kitchen and got caught up in his sharp green nose and it made him practically drool.

That wasn't what was making him think of hunger, though, as he stared out the front window of the _Condor_. No, what made him think of hunger was Finn, who was sitting nearby, his feet propped up on the table, polishing his crossbow and occasionally complaing about how hungry he was. It nearly made Stork burst out laughing: Finn, hungry? He didn't know the meaning of the word.

Back in the old days, Stork couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been hungry. If people thought he was scrawny now, they should have seen him back then. He was basically a skeleton shoved into some tight green skin. Back then it was rare if Stork got more then one meal a day, and it was never very filling either. He'd go to bed hungry more often then not. Sometimes he'd gone for days without eating anything. He didn't just know hunger. He knew beyond starvation. He knew emaciation to the point where it was eat whatever you can steal from the kitchen or die.

On one of those occasions Stork could remember lying in bed, sleepless as he so often was, listening to his stomach roaring at him. He couldn't remember how long he'd gone that particular time… six days, maybe seven. He'd been scared by that point, because not only did his body feel incredibly weak, but he'd passed out three time in the last two days. He knew that was a dangerous warning sign. But even that wasn't enough to force him from his room and into the kitchen. It was the pain that did that.

There were several different types of pain, in Stork's mind, anyways. There was that cold, piercing, stabbing pain that made you want to curl up and hold your breath so you couldn't move and make it worse. There was that throbbing, dull, demanding pain that made you drag a leg or let you arm hang limp. There was the sharp, burning pain that seemed to spread and grow inside of you… and many others that you couldn't possible imagine until you felt them. But there were really only two types: the ones you could feel outside and the ones you could feel inside. Stork preferred the outside ones, in all honesty. They could be fixed, or even ignored once you got used to them. It was that internal pain, the kind your own body makes up, that is unbearable. A toothache, a stomach-ache…the horrific migraine. Those sorts of pains you just couldn't ignore, and you couldn't get used to either. Stork had extreme sympathy for women because of that.

Anyways, it was the pain that was ripping him apart inside that had made him forget his fear and creep into the kitchen. When you went long enough, an empty stomach was absolute torture. It felt like giant, stone hands had grasped your insides and were squeezing and twisting them every which way, while at the same time metal hooks were imbedded in your gut and were trying to pull it out through your ribs. It hurt so much it made you feel like you were going to puke, ironically enough. Pain inside of you made you want to escape, to run from it, but you can't, because it's a part of you. Hands down, it was the worst kind of physical agony, and Stork knew it all too well.

On this particular occasion he'd slunk into the dark kitchen on legs that barely supported him, silent as a shadow. If they heard him, they'd put him in greater agony then he already was, and believe it, it was possible. He'd opened to first counter he'd come to, feeling like he was acting on stolen time and at any minute he was going to run out. He'd grabbed the first thing he'd seen, which was a loaf of bread and then stole back to him room, where he ate the whole thing, every slice, plain, in barely five minutes. He'd gotten beaten for it the next day, but it was better then letting yourself slowly shut down…

Stork shuddered a little at the thought. He remembered one time when Piper had told him about some girls who were so desperate to be skinny that they starved themselves until they were the right size. Stork had gawked at the notion. How spoiled did you have to be where not eating was an option and not a fact of life? It boggled his mind, it made him crazy.

At one point in time Stork had taught himself to swallow air, in a desperate attempt to fill his stomach with something. It made him feel bloated and horrible, but it was better then the alternative. He wore three belts extremely tight against himself because he discovered that it numbed the feeling that something was chewing at the walls of your belly.

Perhaps one of the worst things about hunger was the need it came with. That simple, stabbing, raw, primal need, the most basic of instincts next to breathing. It used to drive Stork over the edge, that consuming thought, that thing that was eventually all he could focus on. It was such a simple problem to fix. Just eat something. Anything. It maddened him; it amplified the intensity of his agony. The simple need for food, for substance and he couldn't have it. He couldn't satisfy it, and it made him insane.

Yes, no one knew hunger like Stork did. He hoped no one ever would.

"Dinner's ready!" Piper called and Finn jumped to his feet.

"Finally!" He cheered. "Stork, come one, let's go! Aren't you hungry? I'm starving!"

Stork locked the controls of the _Condor_ and followed his shipmate. "Tell me about it."

**Well, I think I'll go and make myself a sandwich now. Kidding. Actually, I'd like to dedicate this particular chapter to a friend of mine, who kinda knows what Stork's talking about (maybe not to the exact extent, but you know). Yup, so this one's for Jeremy Lloyd. Hopefully he'll never know exactly what Stork means. Hopefully, none of you will.**


	5. Neverland

**5**

**Neverland**

**Author's note: Thanks again for all the reviews!**

There was no one in the whole of Atmos who caused Stork more heartbreak then his mother. But there was no one in the universe that made him feel more afraid then his step-father.

A lot of the time he just ignored the fact that Stork existed, and that, on his part, was the single nicest thing he'd ever done for his illegitimate son. But the times during which he did acknowledge Stork's existence become blots in Stork's miserable life during which he wished he'd never been born. And unfortunately, they came quite often and without any warning. Living in Stork's house was like walking across a mine field; one wrong step and you were lucky if you could drag your carcass out of there. It was that sort of environment that made people sick.

Stork huddled in his room on this particular day, torn. It was a beautiful day outside, warm, sunny, clear, bright. Such sorts of days didn't come this way often, and it was that sort of day that Stork would stay out all day in to explore the Terra by himself, sometimes wandering for miles to find some new, private place where he could pretend, for a little while anyways, he was the king. He could spend all day playing by himself, catching frogs by a stream or climbing as high as he could in some of his favourite trees. He would run around the forest with a stick in his belt, pretending his was a knight in shining armour off on some dangerous and exciting adventure or another, or build himself a fortress from fallen branches and stones. Sometimes he'd take a book with him and sometimes he'd just lie for hours in some soft grass and watch the world go by without him. It seemed cruel to have to go home then later, after hours of forgetting who he was and where he had to go back to, but during that time, he was free.

And now the only thing standing between him and that glorious solitude was Vulcan.

Vulcan was almost quite literally standing between him and his freedom. Or sitting, anyways. He was sitting at the dilapidated kitchen table almost like a prison guard, as if waiting for Stork to try and make it break for it. Stork could never predict when Vulcan was going to blow up on him, but he could pick up on his step-father's moods almost instantly, and right now he knew Vulcan wasn't in a good one. And it was during those times that he was the most dangerous. When Vulcan was like that, it was best to tuck yourself up in a corner and hope he didn't see you.

It was so cruel and so unfair that Stork wanted to cry. Just beyond Vulcan was the door, and beyond that was the beautiful haven of the rest of the world. It was like only having to slip past the dragon to get to his horde of worldly treasures. Stork knew it was much safer to stay in his room and not attract any attention to himself, but after so many years, safety had lost its novelty. It was like being a goat in a lion's den; eventually they were going to get you anyways, no matter how quiet you were. It wasn't even safety, really. It was a false type of security, and temporary one. He wasn't safe, he was trapped, and he was only waiting for the lions to find him. Everything in Stork's life was temporary.

He'd thought about going out the bathroom window. His own room had no window, which made it even more like a prison. He figured it must have been a walk-in closet at one point, before he'd come along. The ramshackle house in which he lived only had one real bedroom to begin with, because it was so small. Stork didn't mind his crammed little space where he resided, but right now the walls felt too tight. He was young and inquisitive and he wanted to be outside.

Maybe Vulcan wouldn't notice him. He was like that sometimes. Sometimes you could just stroll right out under his nose and he wouldn't even blink. Vulcan was practically a dead Merb walking, as far as Stork was concerned. He drank too much and smoked too much and did too many drugs. His brain was slowly disintegrating and some days he was left in such a lifeless stupor that he would stare at a blank wall for hours as if there were pictures there only he could see. Other days he was so full of mindless rage he would strike out for no reason, usually at Stork. He was unstable and unpredictable and whenever he was around Stork felt like it was only a matter of time before something bad happened. It made him uneasy and he'd be so tense that his muscles would ache for hours afterward, even if he didn't get hit.

Taking a deep breath to try and steady himself he slowly pushed open his door and glanced out into the kitchen. Vulcan's large frame was piled into a wobbly kitchen chair, and he had a newspaper spread on the table in front of him, even though Stork knew for a fact that he couldn't read. Stork had no idea where his mother was, even though it wouldn't matter. It wasn't like she'd ever tried to stop Vulcan before when he attacked her son.

Stork slipped out his bedroom door quietly and clung to the walls as he made his way into the kitchen. He kept his head down and his shoulders hunched, trying to look inconspicuous and submissive. He didn't make any eye contact. That was rule number two of the Fear Plague.

Maybe Vulcan really was caught in one of his stupors, because he hadn't seemed to notice Stork skulking about the living room. Holding his breath Stork entered the kitchen, his feet not making a sound as he padded cautiously towards the door. He didn't dare trust his luck. At any moment Vulcan could snap out of it…

He'd miraculously reached the kitchen door unscathed. His heart was thrashing disbelievingly in his chest as he reached for the handle.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Stork's heart was still crashing about his chest wildly, but now it was because a sickening fear had seized hold of him. It also seemed to be sinking. It made his whole chest hurt.

He didn't dare to turn and face Vulcan. That would make things much worse. "I…I wanted to go outside." he said in a small voice, his throat tight.

"Get back to your room."

Stork's fragile hopes shattered. He wondered why they even bothered to build themselves up anymore. "But it's such a nice day. I won't be out long, I promise." he pleaded. He wasn't trying to be bold or brave or smart-assey, he was honestly begging for a few hours in the warmth and light of the sun. But Vulcan didn't see it that way.

His chair scraped back and despite all his instincts screaming at him, Stork stayed where he was. He'd never out run the larger Merb and when he was caught things would be ten times worse. All he could was cringe back, trying to protect his head with his arms and wait for it to come.

And come it did. If his mother could bruise, then Vulcan could break. And something cracked when his fist connected with Stork's ribs, the other one coming around and smashing through a gap in his merger defences, connecting solidly with his jawbone and nearly jerking it out of socket. Stork collapsed with a piercing howl, which earned him another blow to the face.

"You wanna play smart with me?" Vulcan roared, his fists pounding into Stork with every word "You come right on back out here!" And with that he dragged Stork from the ground by the front of his shirt and in three long strides had him in front of his bedroom. He threw Stork to the floor and slammed the door behind him, leaving Stork alone in the dark.

Stork couldn't move. He was paralyzed by shock and pain. He lay crumpled on the floor and cried, fighting to keep his sobs low and quiet. If Vulcan heard him no doubt he'd come charging back in here for another round. His anguish was squishing him inside and he had to let it out. He didn't like to cry, but sometimes he had to. So he just let himself cry himself out. He didn't know how long he lay there but eventually he was out of tears, even if he didn't feel particularly better. He stayed where he was and just let his mind wander. That was how he escaped his ultimate reality. He went to his own private Neverland, where he didn't have to face the inedible.

His real father was there, in his Neverland. He'd never known him, and he didn't know anything about him, but he dreamed about him. He'd always held a secret desire that his father would one day find him and rescue him. He knew it was foolish and it only hurt him, but he couldn't get rid of it. He'd tried to think of some excuse for his father, why he'd never been there to protect him. The only answer that didn't make him a irresponsible scumbag, however, was that he was dead. Stork preferred that. He liked that better then thinking that his father was someone like Vulcan. Stork fancied his father had been something artistical and unique, if not incredibly glorifying, like a writer or a musician. He'd been clever and bright and curious and caring, a kind hearted Merb, full of justice and humility. He'd loved stories and he'd loved looking at the stars. And he'd loved Stork's mother, and she'd loved him. She'd loved him so much that when he'd died she'd gone into a downward spiral that had brought her to where she was today. Maybe at one point in time she'd been different, she'd been capable of love and affection. She'd been clean and good and kind and special and she'd been excited to have a child she could cherish and nourish and love. Maybe at one time she could have been a mom. But after her loss she just couldn't recover and she'd become cold and selfish and desperate. Maybe in a twisted way Vulcan had come to her and seemed like a saviour. They got along, Stork knew, even if they didn't have anything beyond a physical relationship. They tried to be like a couple, event though they weren't married and they certainly didn't love each other. Maybe they just both gained from having the other around. Whatever equation they had, Stork didn't fit into it.

Stork liked to think all those things, but in the end he realized they were probably nothing more then a dream of a dream. His father had probably been a low-life burn out who'd knocked up his mom and then leapt at his first chance to leave her. And his mom had probably always been unhappy and numb and had just moved on to the next loser who came along. And Stork was nobody to any of them.

That was the problem with Neverland. You could escape from things there, but it didn't make them any less real.


	6. True Warriors

**6**

**True Warriors**

**Thanks again for all the, they mean a lot to me! Here's the update!**

_Why do we fight?_

_I guess there's different types of fighting but the type of fighting I mean is the kind of fighting that we needed Sky Knights for in the first place. The kind were there's two sides, the good side and the bad side. The kind where a victory isn't really a victory, because you've lost too much for it to really be a win, whether you lose you innocence, your comrades… your own life. The kind of fighting where there is so much at stake that it seems the weight of the world is resting on your shoulders. It breaks some people eventually._

_So why do we do it? Why do we take that weight, that responsibility? Why do we put or lives on the line?_

_I think it all comes down to who you are inside. If you're selfish and greedy and warped you fight to take things away from other people, to ruin their lives and make them feel small. Or you don't fight at all. That's what makes you fight for the wrong reasons. But what about for the right reasons? Where do you draw the line between right and wrong during war?_

_That's where principles come in. That's part of who you are inside. That's one of the things that make people fight. Here, I'll give you an example._

_Piper. She fights. She fights for all the right reasons. She puts her life on the line for people she doesn't even know everyday she's a Storm Hawk. We all do, but Piper is different from the rest of us._

_See, Aerrow's dad was a Sky Knight. He was brought up to be good and to fight for everyone who can't fight for themselves. He was born into it, so to speak. Finn fights too, and although he doesn't mind all the glory and the adoring smiles form girls he doesn't even know, I know he's got a good heart and he'd do anything to make sure nobody gets hurt. Junko was bullied a lot when he was younger, so he understands what it feels like to have someone bigger then you make you feel small and insignificant. He doesn't want anyone else to go through that, so he fights. And me? I know about evil and pain and suffering. I hate to think that there are people out there who have to deal with that sort of thing. So I fight to make try and make a difference to those people, to change their lives for the better and let them know there is some good in the world._

_But Piper? You have to dig a little deeper with her. See, the way I figure it, almost everything has a polar opposite. People too. There are some people who lead horrible, miserable lives, and if given the opportunity to fight, they'd just laugh in your face. Why? Because no one was ever there to fight for them. No one helped them out of their misery, why should they do it for someone else? They've got no room for empathy or humanity. Of course, they could go the opposite way and fight harder because they don't want anyone to go through what they did._

_It works the other way too. People who live big, comfortable lives may not have a reason to fight, because all the pain and suffering and poverty hasn't reached their end of the ladder yet. They can keep on going without giving a second thought to those less fortunate then them. They, too, have no empathy, no humanity and turn a blind eye to the helpless and weak. Hold on, I'm stereotyping. Not all of them are like that, and Piper and her family are a perfect example._

_Piper fights just like the rest of us, even though she could have just stayed in her nice, safe house and lived out her life comfortably. She could have been a crystal expert like her father, or an architect, or an interior designer or any number of things. She had the brains, she had the charms, she had the money to take her as far as she wanted. She's still got all the brains and charms and so much more, but you know what I mean. She had the rare gift in life to follow any dream she'd wanted and she gave that all up to be a Storm Hawks and to fight for less fortunate people then herself. That's a rare thing, believe you me. She went to opposite way then most and I hold a Hell of a lot of respect for her for doing that. She made a huge sacrifice for people she hasn't and probably will never meet. That is sacrifice on one of the deepest extents, but I know she holds no regrets about the decision she made. None of us do._

_That's why we fight. We fight to protect the weak, to shelter the less fortunate, to make the world a little brighter not only for us but for our children and everyone else's children too. That's the least they deserve, isn't it?_

_I think that's what it means to be a warrior. To make the right choices, even if they aren't always the easiest. To do the right thing not for fame or fortune, but because it's what's in your heart. True warriors don't need medals or parades or screaming fans. All they need is to see the smiles on the faces of those that they kept safe and happy, for a little while at least, in a world where the sun doesn't shine as often as it should._

_-Stork_


	7. Brain Attack, part 1

**7**

**Brain Attack, part 1**

**Another chappie about pain. I don't like to hurt poor Stork, but at the same time it makes the story more…I don't know. This is dedicated to everyone who knows the agony of migraines. Hold on to your skulls for this one!**

Stork knew pain. But he'd never known pain like this.

It had started this morning, and he hadn't really noticed it at first. It had only begun with a slight tightness behind his eyes, and a strange little smudge that seemed to follow his focus wherever he turned his eyes. It was almost like a small section of his retina had been burned by a white hot light for hours and now there was a permanent blot in his vision. He'd tried rinsing out his eye with cold water, but it hadn't had any affect so he'd just try to go about his day and ignore it. Little did he know he was ignoring a vital warning sign.

About half an hour later, he began to feel a sharp pain behind the same eye, a feeling like someone was freezing the tip of his nerve ending. As the minutes trickled by, the pain slowly intensified, until it began to feel like some small creature was burrowing into his brain. And then it began to multiply.

In little over an hour, the whole front half of his head had become a war zone. He'd crawled into his blissfully dark room after taking to pain killers from the overstuffed medicine cabinet above the grimy bathroom sink. He'd waited for what felt like hours for them to start working…and he waited…and he waited…

The thin amount of light crawling in from under his door made the back of his eyes sear. His stomach was roiling such as if the pain from his head had slid down his throat and had started to take up new residence there. The sound of his own heart beat was torture. He wanted to get away from it. He wanted out. He felt like someone had taken two incredibly blunt knives and had shoved them into his eye sockets. He felt like his brain had swollen and was trying to escape his skull. He felt like someone had taken all the nerves in his head and had stuck them into an electrical socket. He felt like he was going to die. He wanted to sleep and leave his body. He wanted to escape so badly his legs were twitching. He wanted _out. _He wanted out so bad he felt like throwing himself of a cliff or putting a gun up alongside his throbbing head. He was hurting so bad it was making him sick. _He wanted out._

A grating, screeching noise was snaking its way into his head, amplifying the pressure, the pain. His mother was watching TV out in the living room, and he could hear it through his thin bedroom walls. It was too much. He forced his head under his pillow, twisting his ears so tightly that he thought he heard them tear, desperately trying to block out the sound. It didn't work.

Whimpering, he pulled his hair and pinched himself to try and distract his mind. He thought about nice, warm, cuddly things, but that didn't work either. Every thought, every impulse, every pulse that slithered through his brain was like a needle in his head. This wasn't just a head ache. It wasn't even a brain aneurism. It was a brain attack.

He couldn't take it anymore. Sliding slowly off his bed and moving carefully so he wouldn't end up vomiting all over the place he opened his door, reducing his eyes to slits to block out as much light as possible.

Movement made his senses reel so he shuffled achingly slowly towards to the living room. The TV blared at him and he winced, trying to shy away from his own ears. He stopped next to the crumbling couch, breathing shallowly and trying to steady himself. He had to grip onto the arm if the couch to keep his balance. His head was spinning and he was afraid he wasn't going to be able to keep control of his stomach much longer.

He was scared. He knew better then to bother his mother. Not even hunger could make him do that. But this was worse then hunger, and it was worse then fear too. It was almost ironic that pain could make you so brave.

"M...Mommy?" he croaked, his own voice hurting him.

"What?" she snapped and he flinched and squeezed his eyes shut, her voice driving into him like an ice pick.

"My…my head h…hurts. Really…really badly." he choked out, not very willing to open his mouth.

She didn't even turn her head to look at the. She shifted her position slightly to make herself more comfortable on the most uncomfortable couch in all of Atmos (which Stork was not allowed to sit on). "Take a pill then." she said, sounding irritable.

"I… I did. They aren't…w-working." Stork had to stop and breathe deeply a few times, pain battling fear for the right of way. "D-d…do you t-think you c-could…. turn the-the v-volume down a little?"

Stork prepared himself for the hit. And, amazingly, it didn't come. He opened his eye slightly wider and watched his mother go for the remote in utter disbelief. Was she honestly going to….?

She didn't turn it down. She turned it up. The sound assaulted Stork and he had to leave, fighting back a wave of nausea, the urge to smash his head open against the nearest wall and be done with it and a rush of tears. His mother hadn't been trying to be sadistic or cruel; she was simply telling him she was done acknowledging he existed.

Stork headed towards the bathroom. He wasn't sure if it was safe for someone his size to take more then the written dosage of pain medication, but just now, he didn't care. However, his head was pounding sickeningly and he had to stop in the middle of the kitchen, clutching his head and squeezing his eyes shut so tight that hot tears leaked out the side. It was too much, way too much…

The next chain of events weren't his fault. But that would be a violation of rule number one.

He was standing too close to the fridge. The kitchen was too small. And Vulcan was too impulsive.

It happened very slowly. Too slowly for Stork. But that was how pain worked.

Vulcan had finally dragged his carcass from the dank bedroom he shared with Stork's mother. He seemed to try and spend as little time in daylight as possible. For whatever reason he'd gotten up for, he wasn't happy about it. His footsteps sounded like thunder and rolled through Stork's head, ripping apart his nerves. He bit his lip to hold back a sob and stiffened as Vulcan past.

Vulcan didn't like when he had to make an extra effort to move past something or someone. And it just so happened that Stork was standing in the middle of the narrow aisle between the refrigerator and the kitchen table, directly in Vulcan's intended path.

"Move it, Runt." he growled in his gravely, half-dead voice, shoving Stork aside roughly. In his weakened state and with all his muscles pulled tight as a bow string, there was no way Stork could hold himself up, even if he wanted to. He was flung to the side violently and he hit his head, his aching head, against the refrigerator. The impact made him feel like his brain had ruptured and he couldn't take it anymore.

Stork fell to his knees and puked all over the kitchen floor. He didn't want to, he couldn't help it, but he couldn't stop it. The pain was just too much.

"WHAT THE HELL!" Vulcan roared leaping back in disgust. "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU LITTLE WRETCH?"

"I'm sorry!" Stork wailed, but Vulcan wasn't in a listening mood. He was never in a listening mood.

His blow sent Stork spinning into blissful oblivion.


	8. Brain Attack, part 2

**8**

**Brain Attack, part 2**

**Ooooooooooooooh, besides .PhaerynTao. and I, did anyone else get a headache? If so, watch it, cause there's another one coming! This ones got some PiperxStork. Anywho, on with the show! Thank you for all the reviews, I really appreciate them! Sorry for the hold up!**

The filmy smear that wavered in his vision was called an aura. Some people got them before they got a migraine, kinda like their body was trying to give them a heads up and to tell them to take a pain killer before it was too late. Usually Stork got an aura and he'd learned to choke back the nearest pill as fast as he could. Unfortunately today he hadn't caught it in time.

Since the initial brain attack Stork had been plagued by migraines for years. They didn't swoop down on him as often as he heard they did other people, and for that he was grateful. But when they did strike…

He hadn't noticed the aura in time. Nor had he noticed the slight sharpness that was starting to grow behind his eyes. To be honest, he'd been distracted. Piper and Finn had had another battle over the record player, and it had started to get pretty entertaining, especially when Piper had brought up everything Finn owed her for. Aerrow had butted in when things started to get violent and head reminded Piper that she'd had the record player last time and it was only fair she let Finn have a turn.

By that point his headache was past the point of no return. And now he was paying for it.

It was hard enough just trying to function while battling one of his brain attacks. But he was also behind the wheel of the _Condor, _starring into the full light of the noon sky and trying to keep the large airship, well, airborne. He usually felt so at home standing in this particular stop, tuned in to the rumblings and subtle shiftings of the ship and starring off towards the waiting horizon. Right now, though, it felt like Hell. Even the slightest shiver that ran through the _Condor _felt like the pitching of a row boat in the middle of a hurricane. The glare of the sun that was streaming in through the huge bridge window felt like needles behind his eyes. His stomach started to cramp and bubble. He felt dizzy and disorientated. He was sure it wasn't safe for him to be piloting a ship while in this condition. This should have been one of those things that they told you not to use heavy machinery with, right after alcohol and sleeping pills.

Piper had once said Finn's music sounded like nails on a chalk board. Stork actually didn't have much of a problem with Finn's music. Hell, he even liked some of it. Sure, he preferred Pipers (and his own, but he'd never let the others listen to that) but on most days he could tolerate Finn's rowdy music.

Today was not one of those days. Today Finn's music wasn't like nails on a chalkboard. It was like a nail gun being fired into his temple.

Stork grit his teeth, determined not to lose it on Finn. It wasn't his fault. Stork never told the others when something was really wrong, so how could Finn know? Stork was better at pointing out flaws, diagnosing hair-brained diseases and rambling on about worse case scenarios then telling people what was really wrong. That was his language, and unfortunately, not a lot of people spoke it. Sometimes he felt like he needed his own translator.

Stork liked guitar solos. He liked to hear the clashing of drums. He liked to hear the vocalists pour out their souls with a few well chosen words and a scream. But today that normally enjoyable screech of metal and music was like a chainsaw howling just beside Stork's ear.

Stork gnawed on his tongue, his vision swimming. Oooooooh, Gooooooood….. this was bad. Stork couldn't think straight. His thoughts were splintered and scattered and he couldn't catch hold of them. His legs were getting jumpy and rubbery. His head was spinning. He was going to puke…and pass out…and die.

He let go of the controls carefully with one hand to rub his temple gingerly. He felt Piper's eyes on his back and he let his hand drop. It gave him a guilty sense of pleasure when she worried about him, but he didn't want her to make a fuss just now. He was weird that way; he was always going on about things that could bring doom down upon them all, but as soon as they actually started listening he felt awkward and uncomfortable. Maybe sometimes you wanted things more then you actually did.

"Love this part!" Finn crowed, turning the volume up and air strumming along with the solo.

Stork groaned in low anguish. His heart beat started to pick up erratically when he thought, in his delirious mind, that he'd heard his skull crack slightly. Finn strummed away and at any other time it would have made Stork chuckle quietly. It amazed him how Finn could get such a happy feeling from such angry music. Stork's music gave him a completely different feeling…

Right now, though, Stork felt like doing anything but laughing. It was the sourest type of irony that it was your friends who could cause you the most pain, without even meaning to. And he didn't just mean making your migraine worse, either. Your enemies could beat the shit out of you, insult you, threaten you with every oath under the sun, but it really never goes beyond your skin, it didn't make it to your heart. Well, sometimes it could, but you know. But you friends… they were something else. Some gentle teasing that turned the wrong way could end up leaving scarring blows. It could shake you right to the core and haunt you at night. And if they were ever to hit you… it wouldn't matter how hard…it would leave an ugly bruise on you heart that would never go away, and maybe even years later, after you'd made up and you knew it was just a misunderstanding, a loss of control, you would still flinch whenever they'd raise a hand. Or maybe that was just Stork. The main point was it always seemed like the people you hated could never hurt you as bad as the ones who you loved.

A cold shot burned right from the back of Stork's skull to the front and his vision petered. It blanked for a moment and then flooded back so roughly it made him retch. Out of the corner of his wavering vision he saw Aerrow glance at him in concern. He took a step towards him and then was pitched backwards as Stork yanked on the _Condor_'s breaks, nearly costing himself his breakfast. He could see the smudge of a Terra in the distance. Piper or Junko could rein the ship in there if they had to. But right now, he wasn't safe. He didn't want to take his friends down with him. Ok, he was also feeling selfish; right now he wanted nothing more then to crawl into a dark hole somewhere and sleep for a year. Or die. That wouldn't be too bad either.

"Stork?" Aerrow and Piper called after him, but he didn't answer them as he staggered towards his room, clutching his head so his brain wouldn't splatter all over the walls. Well, actually, he couldn't really answer them. He didn't like ignoring his friends, but right now, he couldn't help it.

"Dude, what's with him?" Finn said, turning off his music, which had scrambled during the sudden jolt.

"Maybe it was your music." Junko suggested, scratching his head.

Finn huffed. "He never had a problem with it before."

"Well, he did look kind of green…er." Aerrow said, keeping on eye on the controls in case the _Condor_ decided to try something in their pilot's absence.

Piper was still starring after Stork.

"Go and check on him, Piper. He won't mind if it's you." Aerrow suggested. He had a feeling Piper was going to go and do so anyways.

With a quick nod, Piper left.

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Stork's bed had never offered much comfort to him, even after he'd left his old home. As if his waking life wasn't enough, he'd been plagued by nightmares for years, and when he was younger he had them almost every night. On the nights when he'd lain awake he'd been able to hear Vulcan fucking his mom through the thin walls and it had scarred him. Most kids would say the same if they'd heard their parents going at it, but maybe not for the same reasons it had Stork. Even now his bed didn't offer him any escape, although it was much darker and cooler in his room. He'd simply wanted to be able to collapse on something by his own free will, and his bed had looked much softer then the floor.

Stork felt bad for leaving the others at the helm of the ship, and he promised himself he'd make it up to them later. Right now though all he could focus on was his head.

Normally if his door was unexpectedly pushed open like that he'd jump to his feet and reach for his nearest doom device. Today he squeezed his eyes shut as light splintered in and curled up in a ball.

"Stork?" Piper whispered quietly, her voice sounding far away and like it was coming to him from under water. She always seemed to know when to use her softer voice.

He couldn't answer, mainly because his jaw was locked. He tried to shy away from the light like some sort of subterranean freak that had never been exposed to the light of the sun. He heard Piper close his door carefully and then felt her sit on the end of his bed.

"What's wrong? You scared us." she said quietly.

He hated not answering her, so he forced his jaws to work. "Sorry" he croaked.

He could barely see her in the dark, but he caught her frown. "Does your head hurt?" she murmured and he nodded very slightly, feeling like if he was any less gentle his head would detach itself from his shoulders.

What she did next surprised him. Crawling carefully around him so she could sit with her back up against the wall, she gently pulled him over towards her. He only weighed about ten pounds more then her, and only because he was taller. When they were younger and before it had gotten awkward for them they'd used to wrestle and it had always been a close match.

He couldn't help but let a tiny whimper escape him as Piper carefully lifted his head laid it carefully across her lap. Then he felt he slide her soft, cool finger tips over his temples and began to make tiny, soothing circles. He'd tried doing that himself before, but it never had worked. But there was something about the way Piper did it…the moment she started he felt his muscles relax instantly. He felt the pain slowly start to numb. It didn't go away, but it was almost like Piper'd made a thin wall between his nerves so that he couldn't feel it anymore. His whole body seemed to melt into her tender touch. She shifted her fingers slightly, moving them under his hairline and along his jaw muscles. He uncurled his body slightly, resting against her completely. She felt good. Her touch felt good. Being around Piper, period, felt good. It was like an aura that surrounded her, a warm and comforting thing that wrapped around you whenever she was near you. Maybe that was why Aerrow was in love with her. It was one of the hundreds of reasons that Stork was obsessed with her.

He didn't know if he fell asleep or not. He couldn't remember drifting off or waking up again. He just coasted along on the peaceful vibe that Piper had created. He floated along, not caring if he ever snapped out of it, if he ever moved again. He could just lie here forever, as long as Piper stayed with him.

After some time, he wasn't sure how long, Piper spoke quietly. "Stork?"

"Mmm?"

"Feel any better?"

He let out a low groan for an answer, afraid that if he moved his mouth it would tear the delicate membrane that had enveloped him and all the pain would come screaming back.

He could practically feel her smile, even thought he couldn't see her face. "Good. I'm going to stay here awhile longer, though. It's not like we had anywhere to be anyways."

Stork gave the tiniest of nods, glad she wasn't leaving him just yet. He realized Finn was going to taunt him for hours later, but he didn't really care.

The way he figured it was like this: if he could take on a migraine for Finn, then he could definitely take on Finn's teasing for some golden time with Piper.

**Again, sorry about the wait, I've been kinda busy this week. In my twisted little way I LOVE the whole hurt/comfort thing, I've been waiting to put this chapter into words for a long time. I hoped you liked it. Oh, and don't worry, Brotherhood of the Wing's gonna be updated ASAP, sorry about the wait on that one too…**


	9. Magic Mirror

**9**

**Magic Mirror**

**Ok, so this one is in the present day again, but this time it's Piper's POV. Again, I apologize about the hold up, school's starting to catch up with me, and now work. Argh, I hate making excuses. I'm also having a hopefully temporary brain block. Anyways… oh, did any of you hear about this? Reading some stuff on Wikipedia, according to the creator of the show, Stork is supposed to be in his early twenties. Ha ha, I don't think so. I like the whole idea of them all sort of being around the same age, plus they're supposed to be a group of mismatched **_**teens**_**, right? Anywho, I personally like to think that they're all around the same age, which I figure is like 14, 15, maybe just 16 kinda deal. Anyone with me or am I just stuck in a little dream****world?**

You're not so smart, when you're a kid.

Well, sure, you can be smart. But you don't really get the world yet. That comes later, around the same time you start to get the kinds of pains that aren't physical, and when you start to get the parts of the movies that you always looked away from in disgust when you were younger. Anyways, when you're little you can think up these great, fantastic ideas and build these great big dreams and at the time you think they're not only true, but they're the way things really work. And then you get heartbroken when you're older and realize that the world isn't really like that.

Piper had had many of these theories growing up. Of course, she'd grown up a little younger then most children, but she'd been no less disappointed when her theories proved wrong.

One of her most prized theories was the one she'd had about inner and outer beauty. It was only until after she'd met Stork that she'd learned just how lucky she was to have grown up surrounded by so many kind hearted and caring people. But when she was younger, she'd automatically assumed that all people were just as loving and kind and generous. Also, in her own little fairy tale nurtured way, she'd begun to think everyone who was good must be beautiful. It just seemed fair that way. I mean, the evil witch in her stories couldn't be pretty like the good princess or the handsome knight who came to save her. So in her five year old mind she began to form a theory. Later she'd come to name it the Magic Mirror Effect, and it went something like this; if you were a beautiful and good and happy person on the inside, that automatically meant that you were a beautiful person on the outside, and if you were selfish and mean and rotten on the outside then that meant you were ugly and horrible on the outside as well. And for a little while, her theory had worked. Her mother was one of the most beautiful people Piper knew, and she was also one of the most kind and loving and good people Piper knew as well. Sure, she might have problems, but that didn't stop her from being a good person. Everyone had problems; you just had to learn how to adapt to them. Piper's father was a very handsome and clever man, and he also was very good spirited and was kind and respectful to anyone around him. And so it seemed to be with everyone else in Piper's life: After Piper's own mother fell ill Aerrow and Finn's mothers had almost taken her in as one of their own. They loved her as much as their own children and they were always there whenever she needed someone to be her mommy. Both of them were beautiful in their own special ways; Farrow, Aerrow's mother, with her pale grey eyes and dark brown hair, almost seemed haunting and unearthly she was so beautiful, like an angel who had taken up residence on Earth. And Finn's mother, Merle, who seemed like a spirited child with her bright blue eyes and her mane of blonde hair. There was no questioning the goodness in Aerrow's father, Caspian's, heart. He was a Sky Knight, and he had a heart of gold to match. He'd always made Piper feel shy because of his roguish and proud face, and the way he smiled made her want to smile too. And then there was Aerrow and Finn themselves. You couldn't question Aerrow's good nature or hi good looks, no matter what age he'd been. And although he could act like a real jerk at times, Finn was a little golden boy at heart and it showed in his filthy gorgeousness.

Because of all that Piper had spent a good part of her young life caught up in her Magic Mirror stereotype. Because of that it had positively shocked her when she learned the brutal truth of the world. She supposed now that maybe she may not have been fair, and had judged people too quickly by their covers. But on another level, life had been totally unfair not to point out to her that not all that glitters is gold.

She wasn't quite sure when it happened, but when it did it had grown and spread like a weed in her heart, to quickly for her to register until it had just become the norm to her. But eventually she'd come to realize that not all pretty people were pretty inside as well. Many of them were rude and selfish and would snap nasty remarks at you if you bumped into them on the streets. Piper referred to those people as rotten apples: they looked appetizing on the outside, but just beneath the skin they were wormy and bruised and sour and rotted.

It was then that Piper altered her Magic Mirror theory. She learned to look beyond the skin and the face, to look behind the eyes and into people's hearts, to where it really mattered. And she began to see that her mirror theory still worked, just in the opposite way. If some was gold and good on the inside then they were beautiful on the outside too, in their own way. She was able to pick out things about about the people she may have once thought good looking that revealed their failed hearts. Too skeletal, too plastic, hair that was slowly eroding under all the chemicals, too much make up, expensive clothes that were overly flattering, pinched faces and the most obvious, their smiles. Smiles that didn't reach their hollow eyes, smiles that seemed to hurt them, smiles that were just plain fake. Or none existence. Piper preferred the kind of people that smiled. And the kind that were real.

That was they way Piper realized it really worked. If people were ugly on the inside they tried to fix it by making themselves pretty on the outside. But it didn't work. They couldn't hide, except among their own kind. After all, mirrors only showed what they saw. In a way Piper supposed it was a better lesson to learn, one that she'd needed too. And she ended up better because of it.

It had been years since Piper had last thought about her Magic Mirror theory. She wasn't quite sure what had started it, but suddenly there it was again, sitting just behind her eyes and taking over the rest of her thoughts. Sitting down with an annoyed sigh, Piper did as she always did in situations when something was bothering her and tried to think it out.

Many people may not believe this, but flying around on an air ship for about ninety percent of you time really cut you away from human contact. No, seriously. Because of that Piper figured that her theory couldn't have been brought by someone outside the _Condor_ who had disturbed her. Looking around Piper's eyes fell on the only other person who was on the bridge with her at that moment and she realized what had brought on the sudden appearance of her Magic Mirror theory. Or rather, who.

Piper had an addiction. She loved to analyze things. Perhaps to the point where, like most addictions, it became unhealthy. And next to crystals, Piper's favourite analyzing subject was people. Maybe it was because of the variety of different people she'd grown up, all who'd been affected by different things in their lives and because of it acted and reacted in different ways. She'd always been fascinated by psychology, particularly after her mother fell ill. And ever since she'd known him, she'd been fascinated by Stork. He was one of her favourite subjects, so to speak.

Piper prided herself to think that she knew her friends extremely well, to the point where she knew how'd they'd react in different situations or even what they were about to say. She figured she knew her friends so well that she even knew how they would seem to an outsider, and maybe that was what had brought on the Magic Mirror theory.

She'd known Aerrow and Finn since they were all very small, and she'd watched them grow into handsome and headstrong young men who were as proud and as brave as a dragon and as fiercely loyal and loving as a griffin. Aerrow had inherited his father's roguish charm as well as his golden heart, and Piper knew if he met them more often he could make girls fall in love with him. She supposed Finn fit the 'hot' prescription, as most girls might think, and despite his brash attitude, he could be very kind and thoughtful. Junko too was handsome in his own way. Piper actually thought he was cute, although he'd probably prefer the sweet, silent type. He was the team's golden boy, pure and sweet and gentle (most of the time). When she'd first met him she'd been a little intimidated by his size but after about three minutes of being around him she realized he was really just a big softie. They all fit her Magic Mirror bill, and Piper wouldn't change any of them for the world.

But Stork? He was on a different level altogether. Hell, he was on a totally different game. He seemed to clash on so many different levels, to the point where it was either you loved him or you hated him. Stork didn't meet in the middle. He pulled extremes. To be brutally honest Piper had thought he'd looked sort of scary when she'd first met him. To be fair he was smaller then, and his eyes and ears had been too big for his thin face, making him look eerie and strange. He'd grown into his face since then, but he could still look pretty creepy when he wanted. If you weren't familiar with Merbs and just happened to glance at him in passing you might think he looked positively ugly. You could take things either way with Stork: you might take in his green skin, elongated face with pointed chin, jagged hairstyle and large yellow eyes and say he was strange, frightening or even ugly. But you also might say that he was exotic and handsome, if you took a good second look. The same was to say about his personality; it could either make you hopelessly caught up in its complexity or make you want to back away from him slowly. Stork didn't go out of his way to make people like him. What it really came down to was whether you were willing to put up with him long enough to get to know him. He was sort of like the 'glass half-empty, glass half-full' metaphor, in living form. You could either look at him and think he was a creepy, pessimistic scrawny little emo or you could look at him and think "Huh. Wonder what's going on inside him?". In a way he was like a window, and once you learned how to look through that window, you could basically look at anyone and be able to see the good or bad in them. There weren't many people like that, who were so much both and neither of anything that you could know them for years and still not really know them. It was people like Stork who really opened your eyes to the world. He held up a different shade in the spectrum of the world. And if you took them time to just be with them, you would be surprised not to just learn things about them but about yourself too, and you were able to look at the world through the eyes of another. Piper liked to believe that if everyone would just work at that a little harder, the world would be a better place. In a way, Stork was like a holder of the Magic Mirror. And that was one of the many of the things about him that Piper just couldn't seem to resist.

He looked over at her then, probably feeling her gaze on him. He looked much better today then he had the day before, and Piper was glad.

He twitched a little when he realized she'd been watching him. "What?" he asked, shuffling uneasily.

Piper just shook her head and summed up her whole theory in one word: "Nothing."

**Ok, again, I am so terribly sorry for the delay. I'm sorry if you're all a little disappointed by this chappie, I'm not too fond of it, but I feel like I've got to get a part of Piper's personality in here too, it'll make the story more interesting later, I promise. I'll try to get another chapter up ASAP, I've hit a bit of a rough patch with this one, but fear not, I'll get out of it! And thanks you, as always, for all your kind reviews!**


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